Amrit Bagh

By Rashmika

The lights in the city always seemed to be too bright when Amrit saw them from afar but they seemed

dull in comparison today. His mother would have never visited any place that wasn’t within a 10-minute

walk from their home. Their forefathers had learnt to walk on the well-trodden path, but Amrit found

his feet unwavering as they trudged naked on the moonlit street. Old blisters on his feet had burst from

walking barefoot but he marched with a certain determination. The pain was a by-product and

unimportant. His eyes had long since adjusted to the soft light and he found it easy to find his way. He

had to find his father.

Born the fifth son in a family of fourteen, Amrit had been his father’s favourite. He had last seen him a

week ago, resplendent in his new white turban and blue kurta that he had bought for Baisakhi. He had

promised to wear it when he took Amrit to see the huge gardens in the big city he was named after.

They had lived in the outskirts of the very city, but Amrit had managed to walk in for the first time. His

father often came here for work, but he had disappeared without a trace since his last visit. His mother

had shed not a single tear as she mourned the loss of her beloved husband. She feared for him but she

would not let Amrit go in search of his father.

Nevertheless, the prodigal son had tipped the fine balance and fled from his home at the tender age of

nine. In the ordinary stresses of transition, his absence would have rendered his mother immobile. But

she was nothing if not persistent. She dared not hope for his return but pined for him quietly. She had

attended one of Rai Sahab’s rallies with him but despite all promises of freedom from those pale

barbarians, she knew it in her heart that she would die before she saw either of them. A free country

and her husband next to her, they were both dreams of either a mad woman or a naïve one, and she

was neither.

As Amrit trudged the road, he narrowly avoided colliding with a stationary fruit cart. The fruits must

have been especially stale for the cart to smell as bad as it did. Amrit choked at the stench but had the

sensibility to stay discreet and noiseless. It was eerily quiet. He had made the trek to the town, but there

was a strange sense of doom that hung in the air.

Amrit clambered behind the cart in a haste at the sound of approaching people. He could not say why he

did it. He had learnt to follow instinct and he did so without question. His eye caught that of a tall man

with hunched shoulders crouching nearby. The man stared at the boy; his eyebrows scrunched in

confusion. They widened in suspicion, then to concern and eventually gave way to panic as he hurriedly

rushed towards Amrit.

“What are you doing here, boy?” the man whispered feverishly as Amrit struggled to free himself.

Instinct told him that the man meant him no harm, but he was a stranger and Amrit had learnt never to

trust them the hard way. No matter how kind or honest or helpful the man might be, Amrit would not

go with him.

The man’s grip was strong and tightened the more he struggled.

“Leave me… let me go… leave me,” Amrit wriggled and thrashed with all his might. He could barely

breathe. He wanted to scream but it felt wrong to disturb the tranquil of the night. But his courage had

not deserted him and he fought with every ounce of energy. He dug his teeth into the man’s arm and bit

a chunk off, but the man refused to let go.

“Knock it off,” the man snarled. He shook his hand in anguish and slapped Amrit. The boy’s ears rang

with the force of the blow, but the man caught him before he fell. For a moment, there was just the

sound of their heavy breathing. It was loud enough to be heard by any man, woman or child lurking

nearby, but at the moment, it was just the two of them. The man grabbed him, his fingers digging

painfully into Amrit’s arm. His other hand wrapped tightly around Amrit’s mouth, suppressing any

sounds he made. The man reeked of a pungent metallic smell and the boy gagged.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man huffed. He spoke barely above a whisper and with an urgency.

“What are you doing here? Where is your mother? You must not stay here, do you understand?”

Carefully and as quietly as he could, the man half-dragged, half-carried Amrit towards an open door as

two young men ran past them with a makeshift gurney. He stepped through the doorway, threw the boy

on the floor and closed the door. It clanged, causing the man to flinch at the sound. Amrit darted but he

was caught and pushed back as the man fastened the catch on the door.

“Stay quiet! Do you have a death wish?”

“I have to find my father,” Amrit sobbed. He wanted to trust his instinct, wanted to tell the strange man

in the turban everything, but words failed him.

“What is your name?” the man asked kindly.

“Amrit.”

“Where are you from?”

Amrit stared at the man, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Where is your home?” the man repeated

“Majitha. Please, I must find my father.”

There was a sudden shift in the man’s demeanor. His shoulders slumped. He gazed at the boy with a

pained, almost tender expression.

“Why, my child? Such a burden on you. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be here, that if you were

caught, you would be killed, or worse, flayed alive? Of course, you don’t know. You’re a child. Listen to

me, your father is not here. Even if he is, it’s better you don’t say he’s your father.”

“He has to be here. He said he would go to the Bagh whenever he came here. Please, I must find him.”

“Keep your voice low. It is a sad day in history today. I am not likely to forget it no matter how much I

try.”

“He came here – “

“Why would he come to a place where you either crawl during the day, or get shot during the night? “

The man interrupted.

A knock startled the man. He peered through the adjacent window to see three teenaged boys. He

hastened to open the door.

“We need more stretchers,” one of the newcomers said. He was out of breath and dripping in sweat

even though the night had been otherwise cool. None of them noticed as Amrit positioned himself right

next to the man, who let out a tired breath, followed by a shriek as Amrit ducked underneath his arm

and darted across the street. He sprinted until his breath came in gasps. He crossed another pair of boys

carrying a wailing man. And then another carrying a woman with a small child in her arms. And then

several more until he lost count. His breath came in gasps and he slowed down to a slow jog.

And then he walked. Through broken alleyways and tumbling hay. His feet crept on broken stone, then

on slippery cloth and warm tar. At one point, he had to crouch against the stone wall in a narrow

passageway to let another gurney pass. Just as the passage opened up to an immense open space,

perhaps the place that Amrit so desperately sought, he tripped and fell face first on something. Or

rather someone. He scrambled back in the darkness. Just then, the moon came out from behind a cloud.

Amrit caught a glimpse of a shapely face and doe shaped eyes that looked at him but saw nothing. In the

distance, thick lumps covered the ground, as though they were small mountains. He spied hunched

figures in the distance, calling out names in low voices almost as if they were afraid of disturbing the

dead. Next to him, two boys picked up a man and placed him on a makeshift gurney.

And that’s when he saw him in the moonlight, the man who had told him stories of birds and men. Amrit

could not recall if his father had ever worn a brown turban before, but he wore it then, one amongst

many whose clothes were soaked in the same colour. He lay facing upwards, his eyes staring unblinking

at the stars. Amrit wanted to call out to him, but his voice deserted him. He was afraid. He fell to his

knees, clutching desperately at the clothes. He sobbed uncontrollably. His small body shivered as his

hands held cold, lifeless ones. Behind him, as if from far away, he could hear something. But none of it

mattered.

He had found his father after all.

By Rashmika